


Not Striking (Till the Time is Right)

by Antimisma



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: "Evil" Alfred as the CEO's son, M/M, Magical Strike AU, frukweek2018, this fic def does not represent how labour policy and politics works, tw: slight assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antimisma/pseuds/Antimisma
Summary: In a fantastical world of superheroes, it’s just Arthur’s luck that he’s stuck working with a horrid corporation — one that’s exploiting his lame “superpower” of being a superb paper-pusher. But will a startling strike-advocating superhero that’s suddenly crashed into his workplace — help Arthur find the courage to stand up for his rights?





	Not Striking (Till the Time is Right)

It was seven fifteen in the morning. Read: the most painful hour of work, where no one was awake and everyone was dead. 

 

Arthur himself was blearily walking into the office building, transitioning into his superhero persona of Mr Salaryman when it happened.

 

Or rather _he_ happened. There was a burst of glittering fuchsia coloured confetti. The raucous cry of a vuvuzela. And suddenly, a figure arrayed in a smattering of glittery cloths, silky ribbons, and flamboyant frills burst into the lobby of the office tower.

 

“You can’t let them push you around,” yelled the person, through a massive handheld loudspeaker. The voice was that of a man’s, but it was pitched high, melodious, and energetic.

 

“Workers of Jones corporation! Throw off the chains of your oppression. Your employers tie you down to a daily toil, that saps away your youth and your strength. It’s time for you to take a stand!”

 

 _“_ Who the hell are you,” yelled one of the executives. He was not happy. His morning cuppa lay by his feet, pooling an espresso around his shiny shoes

 

“I’m so delighted that you asked,” the figure crooned, as a handful of security guards began to swarm him.

 

Then there was a blinding flash of pink, and a shimmering shockwave that threw all the security guards back. “I’m **_Magical Strike_**! And I fight for better working conditions for all workers!

 

And just like that, _Magical Strike_ was tossing pamphlets at all the wide-eyed workers in the lobby, like a glittery ninja throwing out shuriken. In fact, Arthur could have sworn that Magical Strike winked at him, before throwing a pamphlet straight into his arms.

 

Magical Strike continued: “It has not escaped my notice that Jones Corporation has not only failed to raise wages for its employees in spite of stellar annual growth. No!!! It has also slashed the idea of paid-leave. In fact, Jones Corporation employees will be required to work through sickness, and even through Christmas! This! Is! unacceptable!!!!”

 

Which was true. Arthur had only found out last week, and had spent his lunchtime breaking the news his tiny circle of friends and family. One of his childhood friends — Francis — had been especially infuriated about this. “What do you mean you’ll have to work over Christmas? This has to be illegal,” he had shouted over the phone, his usual mien of of elegance dropped in favour of shrieking. It wasn’t illegal, as Arthur spent the next five minutes explaining. Pro-business interests had simply won out. No legislators were interested in implementing any minimum paid-leave policies. Arthur was just going to have to suck it up — and would Francis please stop yelling into the phone it was really hurting his ears.

  
So Arthur certainly hadn’t at all expected a magical-girl type superhero to take up the cause, show up at his work place, fists raised and ready to fight the corporate machine.

 

Quickly, the security guards that had been repulsed got up from the ground. They charged again at Magical Strike. Magical Strike smirked, seemingly ready to take on the incoming barrage of attackers.

 

 _Proletarian punch_ , Magical Strike shouted as he used his fists to knock a few security guards off-balance.

 

 _Double un-consciousness_ , he yelled again, as he lassoed the heads of two more guards together with a shimmering pink ribbon, leaving them stuck together like a pair of very confused Siamese twins.

 

One by one, Magical Strike took out all the security guards — amazingly — without causing any visible injuries to them. On the security guard’s end, it was honestly rather sad and pathetic. Most of them weren’t even trying. They were simply gawking.

 

To be fair, it was not everyday that a security guard encountered a super. Much less a super in pink, frilly drag. Much, much less a super who, looked admittedly, drop-dead gorgeous in drag — who was breaking their poor, straight, gender-conforming minds.

 

One security guard in particular just stood there, head cocked, eyes dazed, mouth open. _Do I like men in drag_ , his facial expression read. _Am I gay? Has my entire hetro male life been a lie?_

 

That, or maybe silk ribbons and frilly pink dresses were more destructive than hitherto believed.

 

Finally, there was a shout. A continent of guards advanced into the room in a tightly formed phalanx. They were fully clad in riot gear, and began to draw out what Arthur recognised to be actual anti-super guns, used to subdue supers — even those with impenetrable skin — with an electric pulse that could stun even an elephant unconscious.

 

Thing were not looking good for Magical Strike.

 

Then just as they were about to pull the trigger, Magical Strike shouted, _Shield of socialism._ And a pink bubble surrounded him, deflecting the blasts.

 

Then…….well……there was just nothing left to be done. If Magical Strike could summon a force field that could deflect anti-super rays, then that made him a Class S super — which was completely out of these fighters’ pay grade.

 

By now, the faces of the businessmen who had stayed around to see the super subdued turned pale. The atmosphere turned tense. It was clear that if Magical Strike wanted to, he could wreck unimaginable damage on the Jones Corporation building.

 

But instead, Magical Strike gave a bow. Shouted something like “If you ever need my support to go on a Strike, then just give me a signal” (Arthur couldn’t hear the exact words, because the businessmen were screaming and shitting their pants). And then Magical Strike took off into the air, blasting a hole into the glass doors of Jones corporation.

 

He was definitely a class S super.

 

______

 

Later in the afternoon, Arthur received a call on his phone. He couldn’t help but smile, when he saw the name and the picture flashing on his handphone. “Hello, Francis. You’ve caught me just as I was about to start my lunch break. Something absolutely unbelievable happened this morning at work”

 

“Bonjour, mon cher,” crooned the voice on the phone. “I know! I called you the instant I saw that you were on the news.”

 

“Wait, I’m on the news,” Arthur asked. As if on cue, the old tv on the break room showed some footage captured on someone’s phone — of Magical Strike tossing out the pamphlets. It happened to zoom in on the look of utter confusion on his face as Magical Strike tossed one pamphlet into his arms with a wink.

 

Arthur tried to scowl, but ended up smiling instead. “It was definitely a _different_ way to start the work day.”

 

Francis laughed. “So, what do you think of this _mysterious new super,_ since you’ve seen him up close.”

 

Arthur thought about it. “Magical Strike is definitely a bit tacky” — Francis snickered — “but I think his intentions are good. Its pretty surprising to see a Class S super using his power in such an unorthodox way. Also, I also quite like the design of the pamphlets that he tossed about. Heavy content, but delivered with wit and plenty of sparkles.”

 

“Ah, I see. But what do you think of his message.”

 

“Nothing much.”

 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Arthur had a feeling it was deliberate, and that Francis was about to say something he wouldn’t want to hear. “Arthur, have you considered what I brought up with you that other day?”

 

Arthur gritted his teeth. “That I should get another job?” —“Oui”— “Get another job _where_? Everyone knows that Jones Corporation has a near-monopoly over hiring supers with work-related powers.”  
  
“But not a complete monopoly,” Francis argued. “There are still other smaller competitors in the market. Sure, if you leave for a job in one of these smaller companies, your salary might take an initial hit. But in the long term, working conditions and pay could really improve for you.”

 

“ _Could._ This isn’t a risk that I feel like taking.”

  
  
“But it is a risk worth taking, no? Besides, you don’t have to face the risk completely unprotected.”Francis’ next words were spoken very delicately, “Mon Cher, you know you need only ask if you need to borrow money to tide you over until you find another job.”

 

Now, fury burned low but menacingly within Arthur. “So what? You expect me to leech off you? To be the gold-digger that everyone in your social circle believes me to be?”

 

“No, no, no,” Francis rushed to clarify. “You can pay me back later, once you’re settled in your new job”

 

“That’s not the point,” Arthur hissed. “You’re the sole heir to a massive conglomerate . You’ve never had to take handouts. You don’t know how degrading it is.”

 

“Fine then, don’t take any money from me. But please, consider everything else I’ve just proposed. I haven’t seen you in person for _ages_. When I talk to you on the phone, you’re usually too tired to string together more than five coherent sentences. Today is the first time I’ve heard you laugh in over a month. Arthur, this job is _killing_ you.”

 

“Breaktime’s over,” Arthur interrupted coldly.  
  
“ — Arthur, don’t be so childish—”  
  
“It’s Mr Salaryman now. Do you have any accounts I need to audit? No? Then I’m putting down the phone.” And Arthur did.

 

Before he got back to work, he reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk. He kept his chamomile tea bags there, and dearly wanted a soothing drink. To his surprise, he found a small bouquet of roses, a fluffy bun, and a card which read: All the Best, Mr Salaryman!” It was signed _Magical Strike._

 

Arthur frowned. He ate the bread, but threw away the roses and the card into a trashcan nearby.

  
___

 

He should have been more careful. That evening, he had a surprise visit from the CEO’s son — Alfred Jones.

 

Mr Jones hadn’t formally taken over the company from his father, so he still had the time to wander about and stick his nose wherever he was least welcome.

 

And now, he was standing in front of Arthur with the card that Magical Strike had given him. He pretended to scrutinise it with a way-too-wide smile on his face.

 

“It seems you’ve caught this troublemaker’s eye,” he remarked. The fluorescent lights glinted eerily off his eyes and teeth.

 

Arthur grimaced. “Lord knows why. I don’t even know him at all.”

 

Jones smirked. “Well, you’ve caught the eyes of upper management too……but for different reasons of course. You’re falling behind on your work, Mr Salaryman.”

  
  
“What?,” Arthur blurted, “But I’ve met the deadlines for all my assignments. I’ve put in so much overtime to accommodate the increase in my workload — ”

 

“— And yet — “ Alfred interrupted. “If you look over there……” He grabbed Arthur’s shoulders and turned him on his his swivel chair in the direction of a worktable not too far away.

 

It belonged to Mr Colleague — a surly but efficient Dutchman who’d recently been hired at Jones Corporation. “His monthly KPI is twice that of your own,” Jones continued, his hands tightening around his shoulders.

 

“How is that even possible,” Arthur choked out, despair clawing at his insides. He had always prided himself on being a diligent worker.. And yet…..

 

He felt Jones petting his head like a child.“These days, salarymen are a dime-a-dozen. But as the economy develops, we need you little guys less and less.”

 

Then he bent his head down, until he was whispering straight into Arthur’s ear “If you can’t keep up with the pace of this company, you might want to look for somewhere else to work.”

 

“I don’t have anywhere else left to go,” Arthur replied.

 

“Then you probably have to _work_ a _lot, lot_ _harder._ ”

 

“How,” was the question Arthur left unspoken, knowing that he wouldn’t like the answer.

 

The CEOs son patted his cheek. “I’ll see you later, Mr Salaryman. But for now, good luck with your work.” Like that, Jones swept away, leaving Arthur nauseous and trembling slightly.

 

Instinctively, Arthur reached for his handphone, preparing to dial a certain number. Then he stopped, remembering that he had completely messed things up with Francis.

 

So he just stared ahead blankly, at the rows upon rows of workers at their desks, toiling away. Any one of them could be better than him; could replace him. This was just how life was. He should have known. His powers manifested as ‘Mr Salaryman’ for a reason.

 

Whatever powers one developed were supposed to be a manifestation of one’s deepest wishes or obsessions. And whilst other boys and girls, grew up playing princesses and knights, trying out sports and instruments, or looking through telescopes; Arthur spent all his time as a child staring at his mother’s invoices, trying to calculate if they would have enough money to last the month. In fact, he would have simply lost his youth to a flurry of minimum wage jobs, paid ad-hoc gigs, and tutoring other kids….

 

If it weren’t for _Francis_ , who had hated him on sight at eight years old — until Arthur split the bribe that Francis’ mother had given him to spy on Francis, with Francis himself. And since then, they had been friends. Sure, Francis still had his diva moments from being spoilt by his family, as the sole heir to a massive fortune. But in the end it always seemed like he was always more upset by Arthur ignoring him than by any pride Arthur managed to wound by correcting any of his brattish behaviour.

 

But above all, what upset Francis the most was whenever Arthur spent all his time working. Every time he got more than two summer jobs, Francis would crash into his workplace and get him fired from one of them. Whenever he took too many tutees to make more cash through tuition, Francis would show up and third wheel the tuition session into a state of unbearable awkwardness. It had been a principle that was almost as old as his relationship and……

 

Wait.

 

There was something niggling at the back of his mind.

 

Arthur returned to his laptop, and quickly googled for a zoomed in image of Magical Strike’s face. He squinted. Then all of a sudden, he could feel all the pieces of a puzzle _he didn’t even know existed_ falling into perfect place at the back of his mind.

 

How could he not have recognised him — _Francis was Magical Strike._ They had the exact same facial structure, body build, and penchant for dramatic entrances — and yet a frilly dress, a bunch of ribbons, and a handful of glitter dust was enough to trick Arthur — into putting _Magical Strike_ into a completely different category from sleek, stylish, proud Francis.

 

So it wasn’t the glasses per se that made Clark Kent unrecognisable as superman to Lois Lane. It was the bloody ridiculous red-and-blue spandex body suit.

 

What now? Arthur didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Francis had manifested _Strike-related_ powers for god’s sake, because of how worried he was about Arthur working overtime. What would he be doing to Francis then? If he just wilfully kept plodding on with his horrible, degrading job — stringing Francis along just because he was too much of a coward to seek out greener pastures in the job market.

 

But sparking an impromptu strike whenever Francis next felt like crashing by in his superhero costume? That seemed far too risky. In the snap of his fingers, Jones junior could have all the striking workers replaced with other workers from within the company or overseas.

 

What they needed was a more _organised_ approach to all this.

 

And that was Arthur’s lightbulb moment.

 

__

 

About two weeks later, Jones Junior dropped by his desk again, with an exaggeratedly rueful smile.

 

By then it was close to midnight. No one else was in the office. Arthur was just settling work, so he could properly focus on unwinding over the weekend.”

 

“Sorry, Mr Salaryman. It seems you haven’t been able inability to complete a couple of deadlines, that have been brought to my attenion.”

 

“You mean deadlines that you made up, just as you walked into my office cubicle.”

 

Jones grinned at Arthur like a bloodhound flashing its teeth at its prey.

 

Arthur only peered back at Jones from behind his glasses. “You can’t do that,” he replied, calmness reverberating deep within him.

 

“Of course I can,” Jones laughed. “You have no protections here.”  
  
Arthur smiled. If Jones thought that he was dealing with the same Arthur from two weeks ago, then he was dead wrong.

 

“That’s no longer true,” Arthur averred.“I believe I speak for all the supers working office jobs in this country.” And like that, Arthur said the magic words. “We’re **_unionised_**.”

  
To his dismay, Jones appeared completely unfazed. “ _Sure_ , whatever. You’re all coming out as another weird gender or sexual orientation. Just write it down on some forms and I’ll try to remember.”

 

Arthur blinked. “I don’t think you understand what unionisation means…..,” he trailed off. Arthur waited for any sign of acknowledgement from Jones. Then he sighed.

 

“It means,” Arthur explained, “in this case — that all the supers with office work-related powers in this country have come to an agreement.” Arthur spoke slowly, with a newfound patience that reflected his newly-adjusted estimation of his employer’s intelligence (kindergartener). “We’ll only work with an employer if we feel that we’re getting an acceptable level of pay, and protections in our job.”

 

Jones snorted, petting Arthur’s head. “Aww, look. Artsy, some twelve-year old SJW spaming about “unionisation” on Tumblr, and getting like five reblogs _doesn’t actually make it a real word_.”

 

Arthur swatted his hand away. “Whats a tum-blrrrh? Or an ass-jay double ewe.” Arthur scrunched up his nose at the ridiculous sounds passing through his mouth. If anyone was making words up at the moment, it was clearly his mentally unsound employer.

Jones squinted at him. “What kind of libtard are you?”

 

“Excuse you” Arthur responded, with narrowed eyes. “Was that an insult? I think it is. I’m not sure if you’re in any position to question my intelligence.”

 

“You’re insulting me!” Jones gasped.

  
Arthur shot him a flat look back and hoped that Jones understood that it was a vehement _yes_.

 

“Look,” Jones was now fiddling with his phone. “You guys don’t even have any social media presence,” he exclaimed. “Your little Care Bear squad won’t last even a month.”

 

Arthur gritted out, “Yes. We’re not trending on Tweeter and whatnot. But for god’s sake _it doesn’t mean we don’t exist_.”

 

“How do y’all even communicate with each other?” Jones shouted, ignoring him. “Pager a Triceratops to come over, stick a post-it on him, and send him on his way?”

 

“No, we send out monthly newsletters—y’know — using the _U.S. postal service_. Also we have fortnightly get-togethers. How else do you think we catch each other up to speed about the best excel sheet formulas or crossword puzzles.”

 

“What the...” Jones threw his hands up in the air. “Listen, old leftie — you’d better give up this crazy talk right now.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“What country do you think this is? Commie Russia?”

  
  
“Hardly,” Arthur dryly remarked.

 

“I understand perfectly that its a free market over here. My fellow colleagues and I are simply making the rational decision of employing our labour somewhere else. Just accept that supers don’t want to work in your company, not with its horrible workplace policies. Your business has no more super workers. It goes bust. This is just simple demand-and-supply here — a rudimentary economics concept that I’d expected you to know”

 

Arthur couldn’t resist adding, “Are you sure you graduated from the Wharton School of Business. You might want to check it again. It might say something surprising. Like Trump State University.….” Arthur faltered. There was now a change in Jones’s expression that sucked the words out of Arthur’s mind, and made his hairs stand on end.

 

It made no sense. It wasn’t supposed to make any sense — how Arthur’s first reaction was to freeze when Jones moved closer — pinning him flat against the back of his swivel chair with his forearm. He tried to get up, but then his legs were also pinned down. “That’s very cute,” Jones whispered so close that Arthur could practically feel his breath on his face. “You _really thought_ you can get away with this.” Arthur tried to angle his face away, but still he could feel the heat of Jone’s gaze boring into him.

 

It was midnight. There was no one else in the office. Arthur was utterly fatigued. He struggled, but Jones only laughed harder.

 

Then suddenly, a syrupy sweet voice filled the air. “Excuse me, _Mr Jones_.”

 

 _WHAM_. Jones was thrown across the room, thudding hard against other office desk. Now, it was the shimmering, pink and frilly sight of Magical Strike that filled Arthur’s vision.

 

“Francis,” Arthur breathed out in relief, before surging forward to hug him.

 

Magical Strike appeared surprised, but soon Arthur heard Francis’ most soothing voice. “Mon cher,” Francis replied. “Are you alright?”  
  
Arthur didn’t reply. He just soaked in the sensation of being held by Francis, whom he hadn’t seen in months. Then he laughed.“ I can’t believe you!What the hell is this? Or this??” Arthur exclaimed, as he ruffled up Francis’ hair, tugging at the pink ribbons and the hairpins.

 

“It is exactly as it appears. Surprise! I’m _Magical Strike!_ ”

 

Arthur kicked his shoes lightly, and they parted slightly from the hug. Still, their faces were close, the tips of their noses nearly touching. Francis smiled, and Arthur savoured the fondness brimming in his eyes. “No but really, you bloody idiot. Your superhero abilities are top tier, and yet you choose this ridiculous superpower alias. I don’t understand you at all.”

 

Francis chuckled. “You’ve always believed that I would take the world by storm, but all I’ve ever wanted was for you sit back and enjoy life more. Is it truly so hard to believe I would become _Magical Strike_ ”

 

Arthur snorted. “That still doesn’t explain your glitzy get-up.”

 

“Ahh. Well I also love to make you laugh — ”

  
  
“ — UGH — ” groaned Jones from amidst the wreckage. “Get a room.”

 

“ _Can I kill him_ ,” Francis hissed.

 

“Nope,” Arthur declared. “Get in line. I’m going to sue him into oblivion for sexual assault first. There’s probably a security camera around here that caught him in the act.”

 

“Well then shall we download the security camera footage, before we leave?”

 

“Absolutely. But before that.” Arthur took Francis’ face in his hands, and gave him a deep kiss. Then, he wrapped his arms around Francis’ waist, as Francis barrelled them first into the security room, and then out of a window into the sky in flight.

**Author's Note:**

> So......can you guess which side of the political spectrum I belong to? :P
> 
> But yea I had a lot of fun giving the middle finger to reality, and just revelling in the concentrated absurdity of the Magical Strike AU. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed reading it as well!


End file.
